


I'll be a no-one for you

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Rockstar!Harry, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for <a href="http://1dkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2628.html?thread=1380164#t1380164">this</a> prompt over at the kinkmeme - <em>I really want harry to be a cocky rockstar and to have louis be his strict new publicist</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll be a no-one for you

**Author's Note:**

> A repost, as I'm moving what little fic I have here!

Liam spits his drink all over the table when Louis tells him.

" _Harry Styles?_ " he manages to choke out, eyes wide with disbelief and hands grabbing blindly for a napkin to clean up.

"Good fucking luck with that, mate," Niall pipes up, shaking his head a little at Louis' revelation.

"Are you _sure?_ "

Louis sighs and rolls his eyes, adjusting his glasses where they've slipped down his nose and running a hand through his already mussed hair.

"I'm certain. It's really good pay and just think of all the doors it will open for me," Louis insists, emptying his glass and making to leave, "besides, all I've got to do is set up interviews and gigs and try to keep the press on side. I've done it a hundred times over already."

Liam and Niall don't look convinced.

He leaves the two (grim-faced and sharing wary glances) because he's meeting Harry at four and though it's only just gone two thirty, he doesn't want to fuck this up. _It's a good opportunity, a really great, brilliant, fantastic opportunity_ he has to tell himself as he steps into pressed black trousers and a button-up white shirt. He doesn't bother with a tie and laces up black brogues, though he hates how restrictive they are and misses the comfort of his Toms already.

It's three and the hotel is a half hour drive away, so he leaves to allow himself adequate time. Traffic means he gets there at three forty-five and he sits in the lobby to await Harry.

It's enough time for him to sit and worry. _Good fucking luck_ swims in his head as he thinks about all the things he thinks he knows about Harry Styles. Cocky, self-absorbed, rude, wild, arrogant to name but a few (or so the media would have him believe). Turns out he has a whole lot more time to worry than he anticipated when Harry doesn't show till six.

He's moodier and skinnier than Louis expected, sauntering without purpose or care though he's seen Louis sitting there and it's obvious that he knows who he is. He's all black skinny jeans and baggy t-shirt, leather jacket slung over his shoulder like some walking tribute to Kurt Cobain. His eyes are huge and brilliant green, set on a face framed with heavy curls and finished with red, red, cherry red lips. _Wow, wow, wow, wow_ is all Louis can think until he remembers why he's here and stands up, tripping over his feet as he walks towards Harry with a hand outstretched.

Harry doesn't take the hand, crossing his arms over his body and fixing his eyes on Louis' face. Those eyes slide down Louis' body, slowly so that Louis feels himself getting hotter under that burning gaze. He feels overdressed and stupid and awkward and fiddles with the black edge of his glasses as he does when he's nervous. 

"I'm Louis. Tomlinson," he mumbles, blushing furiously and wondering what the hell is going on. He's normally pretty calm when it comes to meeting 'celebrities', considering he's worked for a fair few of them despite his young age. Harry chuckles lowly and it tugs something fierce in Louis' stomach as he drags his eyes up to meet the cocky rockstar's. 

"I think you already know who I am," Harry drawls and Louis wonders briefly if this is all just an act, until Harry turns away from him and wanders off to his hotel room without another word. Louis feels drained already, his blood boiling at this kid's ridiculous arrogance and a strange, dull ache settling low in his stomach. He groans and wishes he'd listened to Niall and Liam when he'd had the chance.

By the end of the week Louis has secured two gigs and as many magazine interviews, as well as countless nightclub and pub appearances. Harry doesn't turn up to the first gig and he's so drunk at the second that he can't even sing and has to be escorted off the premises. He swears too much in his interviews and he starts fights at his nightclub and pub appearances.

Louis tears his hair out and Harry doesn't give a fuck.

"You know nothing about me, Tomlinson," Harry seethes after Louis confronts him about yet another no-show gig. 

"I don't? I know you think you're something special when you're really just some cocky kid that got lucky." He regrets the words as soon as Harry's face drops, his usual smug pretence forgotten. Then, in a flash it's back again as Harry scowls and storms out. 

Suddenly, things go right for a while. Harry does gigs sober and on time, though manages to maintain his bad boy rockstar image in the process. He doesn’t swear in interviews and he doesn’t get thrown out of clubs. Him and Louis talk until the small hours of the morning sometimes and there was once when Harry fell asleep with his head tilted back onto Louis’ shoulder. If Louis had pressed a kiss into the younger one’s hair then nobody had been around to see.

Harry gets in a fight at a club though and the press is quick to drag him back through the mud. Louis tries his best to keep up and defend Harry, but the media is hell-bent on ruining him, it seems.

"Harry, what the hell is wrong with you?" Louis snaps as he holds an icepack to Harry's swollen jaw. Harry just shrugs because speaking is painful and Louis briefly thinks that he maybe he deserves to be knocked down a peg or two, the idiot. Something else though, something that has embedded itself much, much deeper in Louis' thoughts is a ridiculous urge to protect the boy that he now feels responsible for. 

“The guy was a fucking homophobe, what was I s’posed to do?” Harry manages to slur, though his words are affected by his aching jaw and the alcohol still in his system.

“People are dicks, Harry,” _you included_ , “but you have to ignore them. That’s life, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry insists suddenly, pushing Louis away and holding the icepack up himself. Louis fiddles with his glasses.

“What, Harry?” Louis tries, eyebrows raised and a smirk playing on his face.

“No, _kiddo_. You’re what, two years older than me? And don’t try cocky, it doesn’t look good on you.” Then he’s on his feet and leaving to go God knows where.

Louis finds out where, though, at two the next morning when his phone buzzes urgently. He loses his bearings for a minute, forgetting that he’s in a hotel in some city promoting Harry’s newest single (though Harry, as usual, is being no help). The caller ID says Harry which immediately sets alarm bells ringing in Louis’ mind, because, really, what the hell has the boy done now?

“Harry?” Louis’ wide awake now and there’s no time for _hello, how are you_.

“Louis,” comes a familiar drawl from the other end of the line, words slurred, “need you, Louis, need you,” he mutters.

“I’m not a fucking babysitter, Harry,” Louis snaps, about to put the phone down but then there’s another sound, like crying. Louis’ out of bed and dressed then, slipping on shoes and grabbing car keys and coaxing Harry's whereabouts from him. Harry manages to mutter the address of the club he's at and Louis reassures Harry he’ll be there quicker than he knows as he slips into his car. He’s met with a soft whimper that only serves to make Louis put his foot down and break a few speed limits.

When he gets there (some seedy nightclub in central London) Harry is sitting on the floor, back leant against the brick wall outside. There’s already a gaggle of people around him. Some of them are girls in short skirts and tiny tops, tottering on heels with their long hair and make-up and perfume and coaxing drunken kisses from Harry who’s head is lolling to one side, barely conscious. Some of them are clearly friends of Harry’s, trying to keep the crowd at bay. One tanned, dark-haired boy in particular looks like he’s about to lose his cool, lashing out at photographers and nosy onlookers. 

Louis doesn’t think, just elbows through and loops arms under Harry’s, pulling him straight from the floor and into his chest. Harry whines a little, girls and boys alike trying to grab at the rockstar and claim their very own piece of Harry Styles. Louis tries his best to hide Harry from the cameras but their flashes are so bright and their hands are so insistent that he just ends up dragging Harry to his car as fast as he can. He bundles him in the back none too softly before flicking a v to the photographers pressing their cameras to the windows, something he’ll probably regret when he’s less wired and running on adrenaline.

Then he’s driving back to his hotel and Harry is crying softly in the back. 

He manages to get Harry in the lift and into his hotel room, though the boy leans on him and holds onto his shirt like he’s trying to bury himself right into Louis. Louis sits Harry on the bed, leaning him against the backboard so he can support himself. Then he crawls onto the bed too, right up close to Harry, holding his face and wiping away new tears with his thumbs. He’s sure that this is not what publicists are supposed to do, but he’s pretty sure he’s more than just that now.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Louis asks desperately, scared that Harry is on the verge of a final breakdown.

“This is what they _want_ , Louis,” Harry whispers, eyes closed to conceal the vivid green, “they want to see me drunk and cocky, they want to see me falling on the floor and throwing up, they want to see me _breaking_. They don’t give a shit about me, no-one does. As long as I’m selling papers and making headlines, nothing else is important.”

“I give a shit about you Harry. I care, I care so bloody much, though you are a complete and utter shit sometimes. Why do you think I stuck around?” Harry is looking at him now, eyes big and beguiling and still wet with tears. Then, with a growl, he pushes himself forward and claims Louis’ lips with his own. Louis barely has time to be shocked before he’s reacting, holding Harry tight around the waist and lowering him back down onto the bed, so that he’s pressed between Louis and the mattress.

It’s pretty common knowledge that hooking up with your clients is bad business and yet here he is, hands tugging on Harry’s sinful curls, mouth and body wanting, hips rocking into the younger one’s and breaths coming short and sharp.

Harry’s hands trace the frames of Louis’ glasses before he tugs them off and tosses them in the direction of the side table. Then Harry’s fingers are thumbing open the button on his jeans and sliding down the zip, pushing Louis’ trousers down his legs and ghosting up under his top and over his stomach. It’s not Louis’ fault that he can feel Harry everywhere, that Harry tastes of cigarettes and sex, that Louis wants him, needs him. 

He convinces himself that it’s Harry‘s fault, that he smells too sweet and too strong and he can’t think rationally, not when the boy is everywhere and his lips and hands are persistent and intense. Harry is a tempest, he’s fire and ice, he’s the oceans and the skies and all the rest of that poetic bullshit. 

Their clothes lay next to the bed and they’re kissing deeply, breathing hot and heavy and Louis’ not sure how drunk Harry is. He’s being pulled forward then, right onto Harry’s lap until he can feel the younger one’s hardness beneath him. He can’t stop a moan falling from his lips when Harry stretches him with one, then two fingers, kissing his stomach and branding him with love bites on his hips. He actually cries out when Harry fills him up completely, pulling Louis down onto him but letting him set the rhythm. 

Louis feels like he’s on fire, everything is too intense and Harry is too much with his moans and his head thrown back, fingers digging so hard into Louis’ hips that they’re sure to leave bruises. They fill the room with cries and groans, Harry dragging fingernails down Louis' back and Louis pressing fingertips into Harry's shoulders and collarbones.

It's too much when the younger one wraps a hand around him and he comes on Harry's stomach with a final moan, hands falling from Harry's shoulders to either side of his head. Harry follows with a heavy sigh, hands curling around Louis' arms where they rest next to his head. His eyes are closed as he comes down from his high and when he opens them Louis is smiling down at him, eyes huge and blue. Harry closes his eyes again because that's a bit much for him to handle at the moment.

Louis' wakes up with the pleasant weight of Harry's arm on his stomach and the tickle of Harry's hair against his neck. He tilts his head to the side as the younger one's eyes flutter open and he smiles shyly. Louis' never seen this Harry, sweet and small and vulnerable.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

"I'm thinking that you fuck like a rockstar."

Louis has to get up then, to do damage control. He releases a statement to the press, saying that Harry wasn't well the previous night and that no, he's not going to be talking about it. There's pictures of and stories about him and Harry too and those are harder to deal with. There's a picture of Harry pressed close to his chest, Louis' hand cradling the back of his head as he pulls him through the crowd. The story questions how close the two are and Louis could laugh because they don't even realise that they've got it spot on right now. 

When he gets back to the hotel room he has a coffee and a pastry for Harry. Harry's not in the bed though, which has been made, and his clothes are no longer on the floor next to it. He's not in the bathroom and Louis knows what's going on. Harry's gone and Louis is another notch on his bedpost. He laughs at his own naivety, because even though Harry was still there when he woke up it doesn't mean that the boy actually wants him.

He goes straight to Harry's management team and resigns. They ask him for two weeks, to find a replacement, and Louis agrees (because he's not that much of a dick, really).

He still sets up gigs and interviews for Harry and makes sure he's out and about and being seen, but they don't deal with each other directly. He hasn't spoken to Harry since that morning and Harry hasn't tried to get in touch and he thinks _that's just fine by him_. Except that it isn't. He let himself fall in love like the stupid idiot that he is and now there's a huge Harry shaped hole in his chest that aches and stings like an open wound.

Louis knows he's being melodramatic when he wraps himself up in his duvet at home and mopes when his two weeks are up. Harry's new publicist is an older woman, harsh and stern and Louis thinks she probably won't fuck him when he's drunk or fall in love with him (which is definitely a good thing).

He doesn't answer the phone or the door to Liam, Niall or his mum. It's when Liam is standing at his bedroom door, arms folded and eyebrows raised that he remembers he gave him an extra key.

"You fell in love with him, didn't you?" 

Louis groans and pulls the duvet over his head like a petulant teenager, but Liam isn't having any of it as he tugs it right off of Louis and demands that he tell him everything. Louis obliges, because it feels good to actually talk about it as opposed to squashing his feelings into the deepest, smallest regions of his heart and brain and leaving them there.

Liam hugs him when he's done, soothing and protecting in the way that only someone who's known you most of your life can. He makes Niall come over too and the three of them order take-away and watch movies and go back to a time when Louis wasn't in love with Harry Styles. It's nice until Liam and Niall are gone and Louis' alone, again.

He's been avoiding newspapers and television because he knows Harry will dominate the headlines as he always does. He doesn't know where he is or what he's doing, but it doesn't make Louis miss him any less. Liam and Niall make sure he gets out of the house but he's so obviously miserable that even they've given up. He knows he's being pathetic, really, but he misses Harry with a desperation that scares him and he longs to see the younger one, even if it's just once more.

What he does not expect, however, is to open the door one evening to be met with dark curls and a leather jacket and an oh so familiar smell of musk and smoke and fame. There's no burly security guard but no crazed fans either, there's just Harry looking less cocky and more beautiful than Louis has ever seen him.

"I'm glad you resigned," Harry starts, and before Louis can tell him to fuck off and shut the door in his face Harry has slammed his body into Louis' and is kissing him with fervour. "'Cause it means I can do this without giving a fuck," he finishes against Louis' lips. They should probably talk about this (whatever this is), but instead they're peeling off each other's clothes and Louis' legs are wrapped around Harry's waist, his back pressed against the wall.

Though Louis has a perfectly decent double bed in his room, he doesn't voice this as Harry thrusts up into him. He doesn't really voice anything other than heated moans as Harry sucks and bites his collarbone, one hand curled around Louis' thigh to hold him up and the other braced against the wall by Louis' hip. When Harry looks up Louis leans in and kisses him, the kiss breaking off to make way for gasps and moans as both near their climax. Louis makes to reach a hand between their bodies to relieve himself, but Harry is already there. His fingers brush over Louis before he wraps a firm hand around him and strokes to match his thrusts. Louis tips his head back to meet the wall as he lets sensation wash over him, feeling the familiar coiling of his stomach muscles and the heat rushing to his groin. Then he's coming in Harry's hand with a heavy groan, Harry working him through it as he finishes himself, head dropping to Louis' shoulder with a breathless sigh. 

They collect themselves for a moment, sticky bodies still pressed together against the wall. Louis drops his legs from Harry's waist, wincing slightly when Harry pulls out of him and breaks the silence with a shaky laugh that sounds more like an exhale of breath.

"Shower, then talk," Louis insists, Harry nodding and kissing his shoulder in agreement.

They shower together and Harry kisses him sweetly under the warm spray, as natural as if they'd been doing this for years. They finish and towel dry, dressing with their backs to each other which seems bizarre considering the circumstances. 

"How do you know where I live?" is the first thing Louis asks when they're sitting down, because the curiosity has been burning him.

"You told me once and I remembered," Harry shrugs. "I reckon I owe you an apology and an explanation," he whispers, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"If I'm honest, I didn't think you'd stand a chance when I first saw you. I thought you'd be gone in a week, that you wouldn't be able to handle me. You did, though, and you were different." Harry's voice is still quiet and he's looking away from Louis as he speaks. "You cared, actually cared about me and not just about money. I didn't know what to do when I found out I was falling for you and then we slept together and I freaked out. I thought I'd ruined it all, that I'd ruined us and lost you your job. So I left. Then you resigned and everything fell apart and I realised that I'm probably in love with you." Harry's words are tripping over themselves as he rushes them out, eyes closed and hands squeezed together. 

Louis doesn't say anything, just tilts Harry's chin towards him and kisses him deeply. Harry makes a pleasantly surprised noise in the back of his throat before he kisses back, wrapping arms around Louis and pulling him in tight. 

"You shouldn't have come out without security you know," Louis mumbles into Harry's shoulder.

"Shut up," Harry sighs, stroking his hand up and down Louis' back absently.

"Does this mean we're together then?" Louis asks after a beat of silence and Harry nods his agreement as if it's the most simple thing in the world. "Never thought I'd be the one saying I tamed Harry Styles," he muses, earning himself a punch to the arm.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Harry laughs just as Louis captures his mouth in another kiss.

There's a scandal of course, _Harry Styles in secret relationship with ex-publicist_ , but neither care much. Harry still wears leather jackets and smokes but he turns up to gigs and comes home to Louis sober and loving. 

"I love you, kiddo," Louis murmurs into Harry's hair one night. Harry slaps him gently on the arm, but presses a kiss to the spot right after.

"Think I love you more."


End file.
